Runaways & Roommates
by RevolutionaryWarlock
Summary: In which Michaela returns to writing with a Lams Drabble inspired by an AU she found on Pinterest. (Barely edited, not my best, I'm sorry, but it's something.)


**Author's Note:** **Damn, Michaela. Back at it again with the libraries and the stupid Lams AUs.**

 **Sorry about not posting for two months.**

 **I think I'm back now.**

 **Working on updating LLJL, but I have to read through the whole thing first...**

 **I'm trying, I promise.**

 **Take this drabble as my apology.**

 **(I uploaded the wrong doc sorry it's fixed now)**

* * *

"You were chased by the cops and just got in my car and screamed "DRIVE!" AU

* * *

Alex was tired.

That wasn't very different from his usual state of being, but this was a different kind of tired. Heavy. Not an exhausted tired, but… a _sad_ tired. A numb tired.

Alex's tired felt like saying the word " _blaaaahh"_ on loop for a day, after he has spent a week sobbing until his whole body wasted into nothingness.

That wasn't too far off, actually.

He slung his book bag over his back and slouched and he turned off the library lights and locked up. Technically, it should have been closed up three hours before, but Alex hadn't been planning on leaving, and he was the only one on for the last hour that night, so he took advantage of the cozy space to study.

Four finals, five job interviews, two grant applications, and finding new roommates (or just an apartment. He wasn't picky.) in the next week.

He was pretty sure this was not the depth of his tiredness.

He wasn't looking forward to meeting it. Which he assumed he would, soon.

Sighing, he spared the shelves of books one last glance before closing the main door and locking it, startled by how dark it was when he turned to the street.

He shouldn't have been surprised; with a glance at his watch he saw that it was already well past ten thirty. He sighed again, feeling the inevitable lack of sleep straining his eyes as he thought about it.

It was a short walk down the sidewalk to his car, allowing him to soak in the gentle sounds of the night air, feeling the coolness relax him, his shoulders loosening, his frown softening. The street was completely empty, and the lamps left a gentle glow hovering above the surface. Alex felt at ease.

He arrived at his car and dug his keys out of his pocket, settling into the seat after throwing his book bag in the back. Closing the door and resting his hands on the wheel, all the pleasant sensations of being out in the night were gone, replaced by the heavy sense of shame, a reminder of his minor case of homelessness, tied together by the scent of moldy Cheetos.

The brief thought of _Can Cheetos get moldy?_ played in his thoughts before he shook his head to keep himself awake as he turned the key in the ignition.

And that was when someone he didn't know sat in his car.

Sat was absolutely the incorrect word. _Flew_ might have gotten the point across. Or _plummeted._ Maybe even _crashed._

Alex was honestly too tired to try to get mad and scream at the weirdo who was breaking into his car. He was mostly just bewildered, his brain struggling to process the happenings. He could have been dreaming, fallen asleep at the wheel and about to head-on-collision his way to a premature death. That seemed like a reasonable and not entirely unappealing possibility.

Before his brain could process much else, the stranger, who Alex now processed as an extremely attractive guy with an amazingly unattractive bloodied lip, shouted "DRIVE! FOR THE LOVE OF WHATEVER GOD YOU PRAY TO, DRIVE YOU BASTARD!"

Alex was unable to process what was happening, but he could process that command.

"What?! Oh, uh-"

"FUCKING DRIVE!"

"OKAAAAAY!"

Alex drove. Neither of them said anything, the only sound in the car the sound of both of their heavy breathing, Alex's getting more panicked by the second.

And then there were the sirens.

The stranger beside him turned to see the flashing lights, and turning back he _laughed_. _Loudly._ Alex would have said something, but he didn't know what.

He kept driving.

The lights got closer, and stranger-most-likely-fugitive-runaway stared at him for a moment.

"DRIVE FASTER," he ordered after the pause.

Alex swallowed, fear and exhaustion playing a sweaty wrestling match in his mind. "Put on your seatbelt," Alex told him without turning his eyes away from the road.

"What?" Mr. Runaway said.

"YOUR SEATBELT, DUMBASS," Alex shouted, still not turning.

Mr. Runaway was silent, and when Alex heard the _click_ of the seatbelt, he accelerated.

The lights weren't as close as before, but Alex could still hear the sirens. He was most definitely supposed to pull over, but he didn't, for absolutely no justifiable reason.

He glanced over at Mr. Runaway, who was wiping the blood off his face with a used paper towel he must have found on the floor of Alex's car. There was no reason for Alex to be helping him. He could murderer. Or a child molester. He was being chased by the cops, for Christ sake, and Alex was dumb enough to be his getaway car. Alex couldn't believe how stupid this was, even for him. He would have stopped the car right then if he wouldn't have gotten in trouble too.

He bit his lip angrily, his head finally clearing and he noticed where he'd driven off too. They were already on the highway, headed toward the interstate. Alex jerked the wheel and headed down an exit he'd never noticed before.

"Uh..." Mr. Runaway said eloquently. "Do you know where you're going?"

"Nope," Alex responded with a quick jerk of his chin. "And I know even less of WHAT THE HELL YOU'RE DOING IN MY CAR."

"Oh," his passenger responded.

There was a tensely awkward moment of silence that seemed to carry on for decades. Then Mr. Runaway held out his blood-streaked hand. "Hi. I'm John Laurens. Pleased to meet you."

Alex glanced at the hand then noticeably turned his head away, back towards the road. "You're distracting my driving." (Alex was trying to be mad, it was only sort of working.)

John Laurens pulled his hand away. Alex smirked internally. Then he remembered: mad. Angry. No smirk. No smile.

Poker face.

A beat. "So?!" Alex shouted.

"What? Oh. Well, you see… It's actually a hilarious story-"

"I don't enjoy humor," Alex pouted, mentally clapping himself on the back. _Very Mr. Darcy of you, Alex._

"Oh… well, I uh, sort of got into a bar fight, which was _totally_ not my fault! And-"

"Are you drunk?" Alex asked, muddying his tone as much as he could.

"What? No-"

"You just said you got into a bar fight."

"Yeah, well I'm not drunk, so-"

"But you… got into a bar fight?" Alex couldn't help his confusion. He nearly pulled over right then, feeling like he was being scammed. _Oh god,_ he though. _Those IRS scams are getting far too real._

John Laurens huffed condescendingly and Alex tried not to shrink back into his seat. "You don't have to be drunk to get into a fight." Alex could have sworn he rolled his eyes.

"So you're saying you let someone hit you and you hit them back to the point where the _police_ got involved as you were one-hundred-percent sober?"

"You don't _let_ people hit you. Also… I'm not _one-hundred-percent_ is exactly accurate…"

"…"

"But I guess you could say that's about what happened."

"Not to be rude, but you look like absolute shit."

"Not to sound like a fuck, but you should see the other guy."

Alex was done. Thankfully, there was a convenient exit with a conveniently sketching gas station right ahead, which he turned into in a reckless manner. Every turn he came to he took until he was pretty sure he would be hopelessly lost, but so would John Laurens when Alex kicked him out of his car. Which he then did after he had pulled over and heard no sirens.

"Get out of my car," Alex ordered, finally looking straight at the other man.

Damn, he was attractive. But he was also a menace.

"What, you live around here?"

"Nope."

"… then why are we stopping?"

"You heard me; get out. Of. My. Car."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." John Laurens held out his hands, and tilted his head in a vaguely puppy-dog-pleading look. "I believe we got off on the wrong foot."

Alex laughed. "Sure as hell, we did. Now get out-"

"BUT!" Laurens interrupted him. "I… I CAN PAY YOU BACK FOR THIS."

Alex gave him and incredulous look and pointed to the door. "This can count as harassment you know. And the police are just a little ways back. I'm a lawyer. And criminology minor. I can make this look like you held me at gun point and forced me into not only being a getaway car, but making me kill the man you stole three million dollars from which was the _real_ reason you got into a fight tonight, and also produce evidence of your past as a serial shoplifter and/or an underage porn dealer."

"Um."

"Out."

"Okay, okay," Alex couldn't help but feel a little guilty hearing the defeated tone in his voice. "But I was serious about paying you back, making it up to you."

"How could you? I could have gotten arrested. I still might."

John Laurens snorted. "Please. My dad has enough money to pardon Hitler in every court system of every country on this earth and not. We'd be fine. I was going to offer you a place to stay, since _clearly_ you got kicked out of your place a… week? Half a week? Ago," John Laurens assessed with a quick look around his car. It was quite the mess, and Alex suspected he'd looked like he'd been living in it. Which he hadn't, exactly, but nearly. "And clearly you need help. I was just going to be a kind person, since you did me a favor."

John Laurens leaned in close, so that Alex could smell the blood crusted on his lip. "You're not the only one who studies criminology."

Alex clenched his jaw, not wanting to let it drop. After a moment, he was able to respond with actual words, not indignant noises.

"It sounds more like you watch CSI in your free time."

They stared each other down for another second, and then John Laurens broke the moment with a laugh. Alex was properly pissed, since his fantastic comeback had just been degraded.

"Okay," John Laurens said. "Well, if you're going to be like that, I guess I'll go, since this isn't helping either of us-"

"Fine," Alex grunted. John turned to him, looked suspicious but hopeful. "I'll consider it. But why is _that_ what you're offering me, instead of… the bail money that you would have needed to get out of jail or something? You know, I'm a stranger to you too. I could be an axe murder," he told him pointedly.

"Yeah," John Laurens replied. "But at least I know you're reliable. I mean, you just drove me out of a police chase. Who knows when that will come in handy again." He grinned.

Alex sighed. He really was tired. "Fine. We'll test this out."

"Great. First, may I ask, what is your name?"

Alex was drifting off by that point. The words barely sounded like words. "What?"

John Laurens was exasperated, which Alex felt he had very little right to be, but he was too tired to try to be stern and threatening again. "I introduced myself. It's only fair."

"Oh. Hamilton. Alex-Alexander Hamilton."

"Great. Nice to meet you, New Roommate Alexander Hamilton. Now, we're you planning on killing us both or are you going to let me drive to my apartment while you sleep?"

Alex nodded, his eyes unable to stay open any longer. "You can drive."


End file.
